


Coup d'œil

by cowboykylo69



Series: The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Past Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylo69/pseuds/cowboykylo69
Summary: The Mandalorian saves you from what quickly becomes an unsuccessful bounty hunt.coup d’oeil (french) - a sharp eye or a glance that takes in a lavish view.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Series: The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024590
Comments: 8
Kudos: 97





	Coup d'œil

Mandalorians had filtered into your work place before. They never stayed as long as other customers, but they seemed to enjoy themselves just as much as anyone else did.

But when _he_ walked in today, you knew it wasn’t for pleasure, he wasn’t here to enjoy himself, to be entertained or distracted. No, he was here strictly on business.

You heard him ask one of the girls for your boss; a bail jumper, known criminal who was constantly on the move from bounty hunters like him. Your boss was never in, barely stopped by the place he owned due to the high volume of lurking bounty hunters just waiting for him to show up.

Maybe _this_ Mandalorian was just really lucky, or had impeccable timing because your bail jumper boss just so happened to be in today. He was in the back, probably harassing a worker.

It wasn’t long before blasters were being fired, seemingly from every corner of the bar. Turns out the shiny Mandalorian wasn’t the only bounty hunter in search of your boss today. All their tracking fobs were going off, almost like a choir. 

But the Mandalorian didn’t shoot first, he’s much smarter than that. 

He probably wouldn’t have even used his blaster, a blaster would have drawn too much attention to him. He would have gone around back without alerting anyone, using his rope and lasso to tie him up and bring him back to the ship with almost no effort, no hassle. 

But some rookies, some _fucking twerps_ , had to get cocky and show off their blasters, aiming un-preciously, setting curtains and clothing up on fire. This place was about to go up in flames, fast. 

With no sign of your boss, Mando was about to call it quits on this one as he watched the flames grow hungrier and hungrier, consuming more and more of the bar with each passing moment. With the child next to him, he wasn’t so sure the bounty was worth the credits anymore. 

Mando ducks behind an overturned table, taking cover as the child’s closed pod follows him seamlessly. Alcohol catches on fire, fuelling it and sending glass shattering across the bar. He takes a deep breath, gripping his blaster, looking for a way out. 

That’s when he sees you.

Near the bar counter, huddled on the floor with your knees and head tucked into your chest.

Acting on sheer impulse, he rushes over to you, taking your shoulder into his much larger hand and grasping it somewhat forcefully, enough to alert you to his presence. He’s not a threat, he just wants to get out of here before this place is swallowed by the flames, he’s assuming you do too. 

You gasp, big eyes filled with tears as you look up startled at the Mandalorian. He may have been after your boss, but maybe he could get some measly credits for bringing you in as well. Not that you thought you were worth much, or anything for that matter, but you couldn’t help the way your brain was working in overdrive right now. 

You shoved yourself away from him, pulling your shoulder from his grasp with desperate fervour.

You were so used to the filthy touch of men, you’re unfamiliar with a gentle, helpful touch. When you look to the Mandalorian, the one who came in completely uninterested in the half-naked girls, who didn’t spare them a single glance, you can’t help but soften a little, maybe putting too much immediate trust in him.

“Let’s go!” He shouts over the firing blasters. 

Deciding you don’t want to go up in flames with the bar because of your stupid habit of overthinking, you let him pull you out of the crumbing building. 

You stare at him, bewildered and a little helpless if you’re being honest, somehow still afraid of your boss who’s probably dead by now anyways. 

You can’t help it, the fear is ingrained in you, it was _beat_ into you. He'll know you’re trying to leave, trying to escape. He’ll come after you, he’ll hurt you. He always does. He always knows, he’s got eyes everywhere.

The Mandalorian’s hand feels warm and softer around your bicep this time. You let him pull you down the street and into the alleyways until you come upon a giant ship. Maybe not giant but it’s by far the biggest one you’ve seen around here.

The Mandalorian opens the hatch to his ship and this is the part where you’re not sure if you’re supposed to follow him, or get lost. 

He stares at you through the T-shaped visor, probably asking himself the same thing.

There was nothing for you on this dingy planet, no family, no friends, no work besides that bar that was about to go up in flames and out of existence. Everyone knew where you worked, _who_ you worked for. They wanted nothing to do with you. You suddenly realized this was your chance, possibly your only chance at leaving and starting anew. 

The ship groans when the hatch finally touches the ground. You stare at the Mandalorian as you follow him and the floating pod inside, relieved when he doesn’t object. You can still hear the blasters going off in the distance up until the moment the hatch closes behind you. 

The floating pod that’s been following the two of you finally opens up with a mechanical hiss, revealing a little green… baby?

It coos at you and you can’t help but laugh a little at its exaggerated features, still very baffled and dizzy at how quickly everything seems to have escalated within the past half hour.

You follow the Mandalorian through the ship, up a ladder until you’re in the cockpit. With wide eyes, you watch him walk into the pilot seat, flip a million switches and you feel the ship rumble with life. It isn’t long before you feel it leave the ground and you stumble a bit, grabbing something on the control panel to steady yourself. You don’t feel like it’s in your best interest to assume you can just sit in the seat next to him, so you just grab the paneling a little tighter. 

You look out the large windows spanning across the cockpit and you quickly spot the bar you both just escaped from up here in the sky. Where you worked and lived for the last five years of your life. It was all you had come to know, all you were familiar with. You watched it as a sudden shock wave rocked the ship, you stumbled but held your ground, straining to look out the window at the explosion. 

You stare at a mass of angry flames, what once was the bar now fuelling it completely. The Mandalorian had seemed to know so intuitively that it would combust into a fiery pit, and you’re thankful that he found you at the exact moment that he had.

You had been paralyzed with terror, unable to move due to the fear of getting caught in the crossfire or being dragged away by your boss. Your thoughts fade away as you watch the smoke rise high into the sky before a flurry of stars flashes before the windows. 

This time you do fall from the sudden change in speed on the ship, landing hard on your ass. The baby turns to look at you over the edge of his pod and giggles. Your cheeks feel hot.

The Mandalorian doesn’t spare a glance back at you as you lift yourself off of the floor and walk awkwardly to stand next to him. You rub the skin on your elbow that stung from your fall as you look from him to the control panel, and the flickering stars dashing past you in solid blue streaks. 

“So... where are you headed?” You decide to ask after much deliberation on your wording, not wanting to accidentally say the wrong thing and set him off. He had no reason to trust you after all, might as well try and suck up to the bounty hunter. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments before he answers you.

“Batuu.” His voice sounds much deeper now that you’re in the dead silence of hyperspace. The modulator of his helmet no doubt distorting it to some extent but… you can’t help but shiver at his tone, at the deep rumble of his voice as it passes through you. 

“Great, I’ll just… I guess we’ll part ways once we’re there.” You nod at him even though he’s not looking at you. He doesn’t say anything in response.

At the sound of your voices, the child babbles from where the pod floats now next to you, probably wanting to be included in whatever conversation he thought the two of you were having. You turn to look down at him and smile when you meet his big black eyes. He was very precious and you couldn’t help but wonder what a young child was doing travelling with a big, bad bounty hunter.

With your head turned to study the child, Mando finally turns to look at you, look at you _properly_ since you two fled the bar. 

Your hair and skin were dirty, flesh below the knees littered in bruises and dirt. He wonders to himself what exactly your job was at that bar? 

He asks himself this as if feigning ignorance, as if he does not notice your scantily clad body in that see-through dress, nothing but thin, white material and a thong underneath. As if you are not covered in bruises that may have been left from the rough hands of men who knew no boundaries. 

He pulls his eyes from you, he really fucking does because he feels somewhat angry for you, angry at what seemed to be your life and your job. He feels no desire to participate in the act of looking at someone who does not care to be looked at in that manner.

You turn back to face him, catching him off guard as you notice him analyzing you. You look at him with those big fucking eyes and that’s when he notices your split lip, the dark circles of fatigue, maybe even a black eye.

You can feel the way he looks at you is not with malicious intent but you can’t help but wonder how truly beat up you must look, how tired. He seems a bit taken back when you accidentally meet his eyes from beneath the visor… it must be bad.

“Your lip?” He’s unsure how to ask if you’re okay, if you need something or if you’re badly injured. He’s even more confused when you scoff and roll your eyes. 

“The other guy looks worse.” You huff, crossing your arms, feigning annoyance or arrogance but it comes out small and unsure. 

Mando looks away then, when your arms cross and press your breasts snuggly against each other. He regrets the way he begins to feel hot underneath his helmet, his beskar. 

But you hear something of a breath from underneath his helmet, maybe he was laughing along with you. At least, you hope he was. You’d rather that than him pitying you.

 _God_ , you hated how pathetic you seemed, how helpless and small you must seem to him. You were thankful for his rescue, for the semblance of warmth and compassion he’s shown you so far but… But you’re just not used to this, therefore you don’t know how to accept it and show how thankful you truly are. 

You both sit in silence for several moments. You sort of admire him while he pilots the ship, flicking switches and pushing buttons every now and then while you steal glances at the child, waving to him and watching him wave back and make those little noises, wondering what he’s trying to say to you. 

Mando thinks your laugh is sweet as it floats through the air every now and then, he wonders what it would sound like through his ears, without the receivers influence in his helmet. He likes how at ease you seem with everything, _with him_ , even though he’s not quite sure what he’s done for you to feel that way.

“Would you like to use the ‘fresher?” He asks suddenly and you try not to appear startled at the sudden sound of his gravelly voice. He realizes he should have offered you the opportunity to wash off a lot sooner and he mentally kicks himself for it but, better late than never.

He’s turned to look at you expectantly. All you can do is nod your head. 

_Cute_ , Mando thinks.

He stands up, towering over you and standing incredibly wide. You follow him as he leads you back down the ladder and into the main area that you had come in through. The refresher was just through a slender door that you had missed when you came in such a hurry. You step inside and start to close the door behind you when the Mandalorian says, 

“I’ll be in the cockpit when you’re done.” You nod and close the door once he leaves. 

Mando lingers on the other side of the door, screwing his eyes shut at the damned images that play through in his mind. 

Ones of you undressing, stepping into the shower, the shower _he_ uses. 

Fuck, he had already basically seen all of you, there wasn’t much left to the imagination thanks to your dress. 

If he wasn’t wearing the helmet, he’d press the palms of his hands into his eyes until the sinful images dissolved into stars and static. But he _is_ wearing the helmet so he shakes his head and lifts himself back up into the cockpit to distract himself with the millions of flickering buttons that he could be pushing on the dashboard.

Back in the refresher, you turn to look at yourself in the mirror that hangs above the sink incredibly slowly and reluctantly. 

There were no mirrors in your old place of work. Boss said it would distract the girls, pull attention away from the customers. Now maybe you knew why.

The bags underneath your eyes were dark, almost like you had a black eye on your right one. Then again maybe you did, the cut on your bottom lip would certainly indicate that it was a possibility. That guy had hit you pretty hard after you refused to fuck him now that you think about it.

You weren’t one of the girls that fucked, you served the drinks that intoxicated them out of their minds. 

But all the girls had to wear the same, debasing outfit either way; sheer white dress, black thong, combat boots. No socks. 

No wonder the customers got confused.

Deciding you didn’t want to look at yourself anymore, you quickly pulled your dress from your body, slipping the thong down as well before tinkering with the knobs and buttons of the shower. Eventually you managed to get the water hot enough to wash the grime from your body and you sigh, relaxing under the loving caress of the stream. 

You never had a shower to yourself at your work. Someone always hosed you down, all the girls standing in line, the weekly routine.

It saved water they said, but the water was always freezing cold, the hose down and harsh scrubbing that immediately followed only lasted ten minutes anyways. How much water could they have been really saving? A hot shower was a luxury you were never afforded, so you closed your eyes and tried not to cry at the embrace of the scalding water. You dipped your head down and watched the water drip, watching as it swirled down the drain with a dark red and brown tint to it.

Without snooping through the Mandalorian’s things, you found a bar of soap resting on a ceramic ledge in the shower. You lather it between your hands quickly, not wanting to waste his soap. You scrub it gently along your body, relishing in the sweet slippery slide of your careful hands. When was the last time you received a loving touch, even from yourself?

You ignore the sudden images that float through your mind; a faceless man, tall and wide like the one up in the cockpit, naked and scrubbing himself with the same soap you’re using now. You wondered if the earthy smell clung to his skin the way you hope it clings to yours, hoping it reminds you of a brief moment you were living in luxury, in comfort and dare you say _safety_. 

Eventually the hot water does start to run cold, you didn’t quite expect a ship to have a great hot water supply anyways. Upon turning the water off and stepping out, you realize there aren’t any towels for you to dry off with.

You then notice a small bin in the corner of the refresher, you peek inside finding a pile of dark clothing. You reach in and pull out the first thing you can grab, a black long-sleeve shirt. 

_This must be his…_

You bring it up to your nose, inhaling the sweet scent. It smells like skin in the summertime, sweet and nutty, whatever cleaning product used on it only slightly lingering, almost like he slept in it too many times, deeming it dirty and throwing it in here for future washing. 

You reach for your dress, deciding to dry off with that and slip on his used shirt to wear instead. You think it smells good as you pull it over your shoulders, letting it fall to the middle of your thighs, the sleeves going far past your hands. _Stars_ , this guy was huge. 

You throw your dress in the hamper, thinking that he won’t mind disposing of it once he realizes you’ve left it behind. But you keep your underwear, pulling it up onto your hips before you exit the refresher and are greeted by those big black eyes of the child.

“Hi there.” You smile, crouching down to the floor to be more level with him. He babbles and waddles towards you, stretching his little arms out. You hold your hands out for him to grab and play with, not feeling totally confident in yourself to pick him up, mostly because of the arguably overprotective Mandalorian sitting right upstairs. 

His small, three-fingered hands latch onto your own, prying your fingers apart and trying to put them in his mouth which you softly discourage with a soft _‘hey, don’t do that’_ , and ear rubs to try and distract him. 

A loud thud comes from behind you, close to where the ladder is and you yelp, jumping away from the kid. The Mandalorian stares at you, or maybe glares, you can’t tell from the way his helmet gives way to no emotions whatsoever. 

“I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t-” You begin to stammer, trying to apologize to a fucking Mandalorian for playing with the child, for all you knew was his son. You guess he could be green underneath that helmet and you wouldn’t have a clue.

A small coo cuts you off and you look down to see the child waddling towards you on the ship floor. His arms are stretched out again, reaching for you but he settles on putting them on your ankle.

Normally, Mando wouldn’t be so lax about a stranger being so close to the child, he wouldn’t be lax at all actually but...

But the way the kid is drawn to you, reaching for you, he can’t help but trust the little womp rat as a judge of character.

Mando’s eyes follow the child, watching him put his little hands on your ankle, your bare…

_Oh._

You stand there in nothing but his shirt. 

_His shirt_. Fuck… Where did you even find it? 

Of course you wouldn’t want to put that scrap of material called a dress back on after washing off. He feels bad for not having the foresight to have offered you some clothing beforehand, although he would have had nothing better to offer you than another version of that same shirt, so he supposes it worked out all the same in the end anyways. 

You made the shirt look so much bigger with the way it seems to swallow you whole. Your perfect legs, bruises and all on full display, your hair dripping wet, soaking wet patches into the shirt, making your- _fuck_ … making your nipples hard as you stand there nearly trembling in his gaze.

“It’s okay,” Mando’s voice is strained, hoarse and maybe a few octaves lower. He clears his throat before continuing, not wanting to come off as mad or upset. “He clearly likes you.”

You laugh nervously, looking down at the child who looks back up at you with big blinkey eyes, clearly trying to tell you something from the way he will not stop babbling. “I guess…”

The Mandalorian takes a few long strides towards you until he’s picking up the child from the floor, holding him against his chest, as if trying to show him to you in a more effective manner. You feel hot, nervous from how close he stands to you. 

Without the context of the child, there was a deadly bounty hunter, standing less than a foot away from you. You couldn’t help the way you trembled, you hoped he couldn’t tell. 

You reach your hand out to the little green child before stopping and looking up to the tall man, asking, “Can I?”

Mando shudders but nods his head. He watches you as you gently prod and rub the child’s ears and forehead, completely taken by your beauty. 

The shower seems to have done you good, you seem more at ease and he feels like he can truly see your face now. Clean skin save for the few cuts on your lip and under your right eye. But even the cuts seem less coagulated and crusted over. You probably scrubbed them too hard in the shower, he feels like he can see tiny bits of fresh blood near the ripped, purpled skin. He has bacta spray, maybe he should offer to clean it? What if it got infected-

“Is he yours?” You ask suddenly, voice small as you look up to the Mandalorian and his breath catches in his throat again. 

Did you know how deadly you were? Those eyes, that face… He hopes you don’t hear the way his heart pounds, but you don’t, you couldn’t, not over the baby’s relentless talking and squealing.

“Yes,” Mando answers too quickly, realizing very suddenly that he does not want you to think that he was green underneath all that beskar. “N-no, I’m-” not that there’s anything wrong with being green, he just- 

_Fuck_.

“Adopted?” You ask, sensing his inner turmoil. You hadn’t meant to ask such an intimate question, you were honestly stunned he even answered it, or at least tried to answer it.

“Yes, adopted.” You nod, seeming to understand to some degree. Thankfully, you don’t press it further.

“We’ll arrive in Batuu by morning. You’re welcome to sleep in the cockpit.” The Mandalorian says, changing the topic.

“Okay.” You follow him back up the ladder, letting him go first which he quickly realizes is so he doesn’t get a full view of your underside.

Sometimes he really is thankful for the helmet, especially with how much he seems to be blushing around you. He’s not typically like this, he’s not one to blush and stammer, people don’t make him feel hot, flustered, _depraved_. 

But then again he’s never let someone like you catch a ride with him, shower in close proximity, play with his adoptive son… all in less than an hour of meeting each other. 

After what felt like minutes but was more close to an hour, your eyes become droopy, feeling heavy as you fight to keep them open. Even though you’re still in hyperspace, you can’t help but feel like you’re missing out, missing out on seeing a galaxy whiz by that you would otherwise never have seen if it weren’t for Mando (short for Mandalorian, he informed you from the few questions he reluctantly answered). 

The child is asleep in his pod next to you, cozy and wrapped up in his long tunic and a thick blanket covering his body. You can’t help but feel a bit jealous, wishing you had something half as cozy and warm as that blanket looked. Your knees were tucked into your chest, arms wrapped around to hold them for extra warmth. 

But you’ll take what you’re given, you’re thankful for what Mando is providing you with, what he’s giving you; a new life, a fresh start, a second chance-

“Thank you.” You mumble, you whisper. You’re not quite sure if Mando catches it before your head is lulling to the side, then resting on your knees as you succumb to slumber.

Mando’s helmet turns to you when he hears you mumble something incoherently. Maybe you were sleep talking? He looks at you and finds you in the same position he found you in back at the bar. Head and knees tucked into your chest, this time with your bare feet hanging off the edge of the seat. 

His heart _pounds_. Like actually fucking pounds at the soft rise and fall of your back with each heavy, sleep laden breath you take. The way your toes and feet slightly twitch every now and then, the way your legs bend, the soft pull of skin around your knees, your thighs.... 

Once his eyes get too far up your leg he realizes that if he were to bend forward in his seat, even just slightly, he’d get a full view of that spot in between your thighs covered by the racy material of your underwear… his shirt you wear riding up over your hips with your position, there was no way you weren’t completely exposed to the open air of the cockpit.

But Mando wouldn’t dare look, wouldn’t dare peek at you, especially not… not that part of you. You seemed trusting of him for some reason. Maybe it was because he travelled with the child, maybe that gave him a sort of false air of trustworthiness, of gentleness perhaps? Mando doesn’t know, he’s not quite sure. The only thing he’s sure of right now is that he needs to drop you off in Batuu so he can stop thinking about the way you make his cock swell. 

How _easily_ you made his cock swell, feel hot, heavy, starved.

Mando groans to himself, keeping it muffled in his helmet, scared to wake you or the child.

This was going to be a long night. 

//

The hatch opens and a warm gust of wind flows into the ship you’ve now come to know as the Razor Crest. 

You hold the long shirt down with one hand while shielding your eyes with the other, the harsh sun blinding you for a moment. You hadn’t realized how dark the inside of the Crest was until now. 

You had never been to Batuu, you hadn’t been anywhere for that matter, but as you step out of the ship, you think it might be the prettiest planet you’ve ever seen.

Mando had landed the ship in a secluded area, surrounded by dense trees and across a clearing from a lake. You wish you could stay here and rest with them but that wasn’t what you two had agreed upon. Mando had business here and he would escort you into town, and then that would be it, you’d be on your own. 

You tried not to think too hard about the fact that you were about to be walking around a densely populated city, wearing nothing but a long shirt, a thong and some boots without any socks. Mando didn’t seem too phased by it at least, but then again, he was wearing a ton of beskar and probably wasn’t worrying too much about _your_ appearance. 

You walk alongside him regardless, not having much say in the matter. You could buy new clothes once you got into town.

The child’s pod floats on Mando’s other side, where he can keep a watchful eye on him as you walk through the wide streets of the town. You look around, coming to terms with the fact that this is where you live now, this is your new home. 

You feel your lip tremble, suddenly overwhelmed with how unfamiliar everything is. Where do you even start? Where do you go? Who do you talk to? What do you do when night falls-

“Are you hungry?” Mando’s deep modulated voice suddenly cuts off your quickly derailing thoughts which he noticed due to your shaky breaths, trembling lip and shiny eyes. You sniffle and run your hands down your face. 

“What?” You pretend you don’t hear what he said, trying to distract from the fact that you’re trying not to cry.

“When was the last time you ate?” He asks instead, realizing now that neither of you have had anything for almost twenty four hours now. You were probably starving, thirsty, parched. Your lack of response is enough of an answer for Mando.

He changes trajectory, leading you down the road to a rather big establishment with music flowing out the wide opening. _A cantina._

Eyes catch and follow the shiny man as the three of you walk into the place, taking seat at the relatively empty bar. Within seconds of having sat down, the bartender is scurrying over and standing in front of the brooding Mandalorian.

“Broth and a jug of water.” Mando orders and the bartender scurries off as quickly as he had come over. 

You look to Mando inquisitively with a furrowed brow, wondering why he had only ordered food for one- oh. Right. The helmet. He cannot remove the helmet.

The food and water arrives too quickly and you feel awkward, you feel bad eating in front of him, knowing he can’t have any and fuel himself too. 

“I-It’s on the house.” The short man stammers, scurrying away once again before Mando can say anything. Not that he would anyways, he just looks at you, carefully sliding over the full bowl and jug to you without paying any mind to the bartender. That was...

That was kind of hot. Butterflies erupted in your stomach and your cunt involuntarily clenched at how easily he displayed dominance. 

The broth steams and makes your stomach growl, but you go for the water first, downing it all in one go. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were. 

Mando watches with endearment, watches you hold the oversized jug with both hands, tilting your head back to get every single last drop. He watches the way your neck extends, how it cranes back so elegantly, _how it bobs_. He thinks he’d like to touch it, maybe even kiss it, lick it-

“Thank you.” You say to him, in between heavy breaths due to the way you nearly inhaled the water. Mando nods, pivoting on his stool and resting his elbows on the bar, taking in the patrons of the cantina, surveying. He needs to do anything but look at you right now.

You with those killer eyes, wet, shiny lips and heaving chest, chest clad in his shirt, naked breasts pressed up against the fabric he once wore. He could feel the way his blood pumped out of his head and down to his cock, making it painfully twitch underneath his armour.

As you move on to the broth, you take in the sights of the cantina as well, looking at all the different types of species that fill up the booths, so many types of creatures you’ve never seen before. You wonder if Mando notices those particular ones that stare, including this blue guy off in the corner. He seems big, muscular, a wicked smile curling his lips as he looks directly at you. You wonder if Mando sees him. If he does, he doesn’t seem too worried. He is covered in extremely luxurious beskar and travelling with a tiny green child after all, he’s probably used to it by now. 

And a half naked girl isn’t that much of a switch up for him, is it?

You finish the broth rather quickly, all the while keeping your eyes trained on the blue fellow who seems to have moved closer to the three of you, _stalking_. 

“I have to go to the bathroom.” You announce, standing up and quickly pulling the long black shirt down to cover your ass. Mando nods.

“We’ll be out front.” You nod back, scurrying off to the back of the cantina, standing behind a random man perched on a stool at the far end of the bar who talks to another patron. You watch the blue man as he not-so-subtly follows Mando and the child out of the bar. 

Just as you expected, a stalker. Nothing you weren’t used to dealing with back on your home planet.

You notice the man you’ve crouched behind is armed with a blaster, a blaster that’s poorly holstered to his waist. It’d be so easy for someone to just, 

_Snatch it._

You rush out the back exit of the bar, seeing Mando and the child off in the distance, near the main entrance. The blue man standing only a few feet in front of you with his back turned towards you. _Perfect._

“Hey Mando!” He yells, his speech slurred, heavily intoxicated. You roll your eyes, switching the safety off on the lightweight blaster in your hands. Mando pivots leisurely, searching for the direction the voice came from before his visor falls on the giant blue man. You see the blue guy reach for his own blaster and,

_Thud._

He falls to the ground, a burning red ring singeing the flesh in the middle of his back. He falls forward, face down in the ground as you emerge from behind him, blaster in hand emitting smoke from the barrel.

Mando is.... He’s stunned to say the least. And he’s not quite sure what he’s more stunned at.

The fact that he hadn’t noticed this guy beforehand. The fact that you did. How you sneaked off, forming a plan without him clueing in. How you snuck up on all of them. The fact that you have a fucking blaster. The way you stood there, feet firmly planted on the ground, legs apart, solid, _long_ , arms outstretched in front of you, your one eye that was screwed shut in focus slowly opening again. Where did you-

“Where did you get that?” Mando sneers after menacingly marching over to you, gripping one of your wrists tightly into his fits and dragging you away from the body and into the weaving alleyways. You only answer him once he’s allowed you to pull yourself from his vice grip. 

“I grabbed it off some guy in the cantina.” You shrug, like it’s not a big deal, like you don’t know how much it’s turning him on.

Mando snatches the blaster from your hand, inspecting it and then quickly shoving it into his own holster. You feel as though he’s glaring at you from underneath the helmet. You look to the kid, he seems concerned, big eyes shining, ears pointing downwards.

“I saved you guys,” you glare back at Mando. “The child could have been harmed, or worse...” You trail off, not wanting to think of any harm coming to this precious child, even if you barely know him or his adoptive father. You couldn't believe he was upset with you about this.

Mando continues to stare at you, his chest expanding with each heavy stress laden breath he takes as your words settle into that thick skull of his. 

The child… could have been killed, _his son_. He could have been harmed.

Mando’s blood had rushed right out of his head and down to his crotch the moment he first saw you, he hasn’t managed to form a coherent thought since. 

Maybe he really did need to get rid of you.

As much as Mando had panicked when he had been deemed the child’s (however temporary) father, he could not imagine a life without him anymore.

His son. _Adiik._

You watch Mando’s helmet tilt from you, down to the child before it sags even lower, staring at the ground. You scoff and roll your eyes at his lack of a response. _Whatever_ , you were supposed to get lost anyways. 

Without another word, you turn on your heels and begin to walk down the dirt path, trying to think of a game plan as you kick at small rocks with your boots.

Mando begins to panic at the sight of you leaving. He thinks back to when he first delivered the child to the client. The regret, the fear, the shame, the guilt he felt as he left that forsaken building and walked all the way back to his ship before deciding no, he couldn’t give up a child like that. He couldn’t part from the little womp rat. He felt it in his bones, his being. Now that same feeling ebbed through him as he watched you walk away from him and his son. 

_Regret, fear, shame, guilt._

“Wait.”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your bare legs halting their hypnotic motion. Mando’s heart leaps in his chest, _a glimmer of hope._

“What?”

Mando takes a deep breath, his beskar feeling too constricting, too tight. 

“Stay.” You don’t say anything, you just continue to stare at him. Mando tries to think of an excuse, an excuse worthy of your devotion. “T-the child has clearly taken a liking to you.”

It was true, the child had grown attached to you very quickly, for reasons unknown to either of you. Maybe it was just a kid thing but Mando can’t help but trust the child, trust whatever affection he’s already grown for you. 

You had stolen a blaster and you had used it to save them instead of threaten them for money, food, the Crest, or whatever else you could want. Mando couldn’t let that fact fly over his head, nor could he ignore the way it made his heart hurt with some emotion he had never experienced before.

Besides that, being a single parent and bounty hunter was not the easy task. It was no life for a child, and Mando couldn’t imagine how much the child’s quality of life would improve if he had someone else around to help him, to help him give the kid the attention and love he needs and deserves. 

Not that he didn’t love the kid but… but his line of work just made it difficult to separate work life and home life. He doesn’t even consider it a home… but maybe, with you -

“I’m not a babysitter.” You shrug, sounding exasperated but with no real malice behind your words. You look to the child, eyes wide as he coos, arms reaching for you like they have been since you met these two. It breaks your heart a little.

You try and convince yourself not to stay with someone who could keep you safe, protected from literally anything in the galaxy… 

_No_. You can protect yourself. You don’t need him. You don’t need his shiny armor and large ship… you especially don’t need the way your belly swoops whenever he speaks in that low, deep voice. 

You turn on your heels, swaying on your legs like you're debating just walking away again and Mando’s heart beats, beats, beats so fast he feels like he might pass out.

“I can pay you.” Your movements stop and you hesitate, looking to the ground for an answer, like it would be spelled out for you in the sand. The prospect of money is… comforting, intriguing.

“How much?” You say, voice quiet and a little ashamed. Mando tilts his helmet, deliberating over an appropriate amount.

“10 percent of what I collect.”

“Make it 40, that kid looks like a lot of work.” Mando scoffs, rolling his helmet and tilting it as if to taunt you. 

_You weren’t wrong,_ he thinks to himself.

“20.”

“40.” You say forcefully, unbudging. 

Mando stares at you, refraining from throwing another pair of numbers in your face, helmet still and menacing. It seems 20 percent is as low as he’ll go. 

In reality, a 80/20 contract is a much sweeter deal than you would manage to snag anywhere else. No matter how much the Mandalorian makes, which probably isn't a lot but clearly it's more than enough for him and the child, especially if he’s willing to bring you on board to live with them. 

“I guess… I guess 20 works.” You finally answer after realizing he was hanging on your every thread for an answer, some indication that you’ve agreed to such a strange arrangement. 

“Yeah?” He tilts his helmet at you. You suppress some feeling of a smile pulling at your lips, a feeling that makes your cheeks ache. The child seems joyful too, as if he can understand the two of you and the contract you’ve just agreed upon. 

Mando feels like he’s high, like his heart is going to burst through the pounds of beskar which covers it so securely. 

_You’ve agreed_ , you’ve agreed to stay with them. With him. He thanks whatever Maker is out there that you can’t see his face right now, can’t see the ways you make him blush, make him flustered.

“Yeah, Mando.”

“Good. Now... let’s go get you some real clothes.”


End file.
